Her hands tightened into fists. To hell with him and his job. No one talked to her like that. “And you, Mr. Spencer, are unbelievably rude. Although I can’t fathom why that should surprise me, considering your sons had to get their bad manners from somewhere.”
She spun on her low-heeled boots and would have left him had his right hand not shot out to stop her. For what seemed an eternity to Liz, his eyes blazed through the dim light and his fingers cut off the circulation in her upper arm. She would have jerked away if a fleeting something—pain, anxiety, vulnerability, whatever—hadn’t crept into his eyes.
She pushed at his hand, anyway, not liking the shiver that wound up her spine.
“What about my sons?” he asked, releasing her the moment she struggled.
“Nothing.” Liz truly regretted her childish retaliation. It was just that his arrogance made her so mad. Her temper was a weakness. Hoot always said it would be her downfall one day.
Gil massaged the back of his neck, then closed his eyes and smoothed a hand over gaunt cheeks ragged with a three-day beard. “Does it have anything to do with the meeting their teachers requested? Ben sent a note out to the roundup. I was headed in, but then I picked up the trail of a stock-killing cougar—” He broke off, opened his eyes a slit and sighed. Gil didn’t know why he was spilling his guts to a stranger. He should be having this conversation with Benjamin Jones, considering how much he paid the retired cowboy to cook and keep a line on the twins in his absence.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Liz said quickly. “The job is important to me, okay? I was disappointed, that’s all. I don’t know about any meeting at school.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and glanced away from his tired eyes.
Gil silently observed the emotions crossing her delicate heart-shaped face. Outside, dressed in all that leather, she’d seemed small, but with it off she seemed…fragile. Feeling defensive, Gil turned back to the mare. He led her into a large stall with overhead refrigerated plumbing. He’d built it to deal with injuries to ligaments and tendons. As he uncoiled a hose, Gil said gruffly, “Rusty and Dusty don’t like school much. Fall is hardest, after they’ve spent all summer out on the range with me. Going back means they miss roundup. Not that I’m excusing bad manners, mind you. But…out of curiosity, what did they do?”
If she hadn’t been occupied inspecting his stall setup, Liz might not have answered with such honesty. She hunkered down beside where he knelt to lend a hand with the wrap and spoke without thinking. “You mean besides the snake in my bed? Or emptying my cookie jar on more than one occasion and then denying it? Or when they interrupted my work to claim their cat was caught in a crevice? I went to investigate, got down on all fours with my nose to the ground, and lo and behold, the furry ball I reached in and grabbed turned out to be a skunk. The devious little rats were quite disappointed to find out I could run so fast. And that’s what they pulled the first week I was here.”
Disbelieving at first, Gil did nothing while she finished the wrap. Then he reconsidered. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Robbins. I’ll speak with them and withhold their privileges.”
Liz secured the loose end and stood, but was thrown off guard when she saw the troubled shadows lurking in his eyes. “Hey, look, it’s no big deal. Maybe it’s because I’m new and can’t always tell them apart,” she ventured. “Why don’t you go grab some sleep? I really am capable of keeping an eye on your horse.”
Gil rose more slowly, hating to admit her offer held any appeal. “My sons’ behavior is always a big deal to me, Mrs. Robbins.” Dammit, he was disturbed by what she’d said. Although he supposed there was a chance she was lying to gain his sympathy. After all, she might have invented these escapades for the sake of keeping her job. And didn’t he just know how deceitful women could be when it suited their purposes?
“I’ll square the Lone Spur’s debt to you the minute Rafe returns. Today. And the mare will be okay until the boys get home from school. You’ll need the time to pack.” Gil touched two fingers to his hat brim and without waiting for a response left the barn through a side door.
Liz curled a hand into the mare’s thick mane and gaped after him. Her mistake had been in believing he could be human. Tipping his hat had been out of habit, not courtesy, she decided. For a moment his brusque dismissal hurt more than she cared to acknowledge.
Then the mare nudged her, nibbling at her pocket. Liz got hold of her feelings and went in search of a feed bag. In the half hour it took the animal to eat and drink her fill, Liz rebuilt her defenses. She reminded herself that she had good health, skill in a marketable trade, and Melody. She didn’t need anything from the likes of Gil Spencer.
Lizbeth Robbins was a survivor.
LIZ WASN’T ONE to cry over bad luck, and in her twenty-eight years she’d had plenty—estranged from her family at eighteen, widowed, broke and pregnant at twenty-two. Being tossed off the Lone Spur was a disappointment, but once she got the money she had coming, she and Melody would make do. Without it, they’d be stuck. Liz would be darned, though, if she’d let Gilman Spencer know she only had sixteen dollars to her name.
He said he’d pay her when Padilla returned. She’d watched Rafe load those yearlings, all full of jazz and spirit. The amount Spencer owed her wouldn’t make a dent in the profit from Night Fire’s offspring.
Liz made her way outside. She reminded herself that she still had to soak the stud’s feet. She cast a glance back toward the barn, which she knew contained a stall with the requisite mud floor. But the stallion would tear up the place trying to get to Shady Lady if Liz took him inside. Although the treatment wouldn’t be as effective, she’d flood a section of the small corral, instead.
After hunting up a shovel, she dug a shallow trench about four feet out from the fence. Next she carried buckets full of water until the ground was soft and muddy. Night Fire didn’t much like it when she snubbed him to the top rail. He was used to running free. “Don’t blame you, fella,” she murmured in a soothing tone. “I’m not big on being confined, either.” And that was putting it mildly. Never mind that now, she told herself. Just keep busy.
It had been her intention, even after Spencer fired her, to shoe those saddle horses in the east pasture—to fulfill her contract with Rafe. She was shocked to look up from looping the last knot in Night Fire’s lariat and see the school bus rumbling down the lane. Goodness, it was later than she realized. So, she thought with a pang, her successor, whoever he might be, would shoe the horses from the remuda—the group of ranch-owned horses the cowboys used during roundup. There wasn’t a doubt in Liz’s mind that her replacement would be a he.
The Spencer twins ran pell-mell toward her. She couldn’t tell them apart. Each had a chipped front tooth, as well. “Hold it, guys.” She stepped from the corral and snagged the closest boy’s arm. “I’ve got a jumpy stallion here. Don’t scare him.”
“Okay.” Speaking in unison, they skidded to a halt, matching plaid shirttails flapping around their knees. Ornery they might be, but someone had taught them a healthy respect for horses. Liz was thankful for that. The boys respected Melody, even though she was a girl, on the basis of her riding skills.
Liz smiled wryly. Melody could be tough when she wanted or a demure young lady—like now. She walked sedately down the lane, her clothes spotless compared to the mess the boys’ outfits were in.
“Why don’tcha use the mud stall?” asked one of the twins, wrinkling his face as he looked up at Liz and into the sun.
She turned from watching her daughter. “Your dad’s mare went lame,” she said offhandedly. “She’s in the refrigerated stall.”
“Dad’s home?” The twin she’d pegged as Rusty let out a whoop and started for the barn. Spinning, he called